


Akemi on the Hill

by estike



Series: Crossroads of Fate [2]
Category: Musashi: An Epic Novel of the Samurai Era
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 18:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17903387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estike/pseuds/estike
Summary: Looking a demon in the face, Akemi runs screaming down the hill. Straight into the arms of a very sick, but very willful Otsū.





	Akemi on the Hill

**Author's Note:**

> This is even more loosely based on the book, I completely ignore Takuan, Matahachi... and everything else, too, for my own convenience.   
> An attempt to let both Akemi and Otsū suffer less than what was coming for them in the book. 
> 
> Some references are made to the Gio episode of the Heike Monogatari.

She got frightened by the sound of her own scream. It sounded unearthly and torturous to even her own ears as if it was not springing out of her own chest. She felt far away, removed, in a whole different world.

Akemi had had enough experience by now to know that those girls who were haunted by the circumstances of their own reality could not find a peace of mind with the supernatural, either. You could meet no girl child, she thought, who stood and was overcome by the harsh waves of life, and who would then still trust, and seek out others. Akemi even doubted the wind behind her back, and much more, the demon staring down at her in the pale moonlight, into her very soul, trying to pry away the only thing that still belonged to her: her sanity.  
  
Akemi ran. She did not know where, she did not know how her feet took her, and the moment she thought about it, they almost gave out, letting her trip on the slope under her. Her hands reached the ground first, and only her knees bruised, slightly. The pain was almost non-existent, compared to the fright. Compared to her heart palpitations, telling her to run as far as she could. Telling her not to stop.  
  
But the fall sobered her up. She realized that running, she made too much noise, and even if demons could follow her no matter what, she might have had caught the attention of any human who happened to be in the area. Now, anyone who was spending time in desolate mountainous lands in the middle of the night… Akemi shuddered and slowed her footsteps down, letting them be one with the gentle wind.

She dabbed her clothes for her pouch, and when she still had it in her inner pocket, it gave her some relief. With this, her journey, wherever her feet would take her, would be eased, at least for a few days. That is, she reminded herself, if she gets out of this night alive. Her mind was still on the face of the demon woman, white and sparkling.

Just as she thought this, she saw something laying a few paces from her on the ground, white as a ghost, glistening in the moonlight. Her barely settled heart skipped a beat again, and she was ready to run. However, having a second look, she realized that the ghost was wearing a modest kimono of a woman, her chest barely heaving. … was she dying?  
  
Akemi saw herself in the fragile body for a moment, dragged out of the river, nursed back to health, with close to no grasp on reality. Without thinking, she knelt down next to the body, checking her temperature with the back of her hand.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” It was a small voice, and yet, it thundered at her, from within the shadows of the night. Akemi did not back down.

Jōtarō’s face appeared beside the woman.

“Oh, you little brat!” Akemi exclaimed.  
  
“Akemi. What are you doing?”  
  
Akemi did not want to waste time on yelling at the boy now. Instead, she motioned towards the woman on the ground.

“Is this your friend?”  
  
“She is. She is sick, but she says she will be fine.”  
  
Reminded of her own situation once, not so long ago, Akemi wiped the woman’s brows. She asked, suspecting something unthinkable. “What happened to her?”  
  
“She’s always sick,” Jōtarō said, without giving much thought to the question.  
  
That did not make Akemi feel any more at ease, but she left it as it was for now. Jōtarō seemed too young to understand anything. Instead, he chattered on, telling her that the woman would surely get out of this almost with only a snap of a finger: as apparently, she always did. Not sure if she could trust the boy’s words, she sent him for some water.  
  
“I already got some before,” he retorted.  
  
“Then go, and get more. Go!”  
  
The moment Jōtarō reluctantly ran off, the woman opened her huge, black eyes.  
  
“Musashi,” she whimpered, grabbing at the front of Akemi’s dirty kimono. “Musashi!”  
  
“I … my name is not Musashi.”  
  
Although her heart skipped a beat by hearing his name, her confusion was greater than the sudden embarrassment.  
  
“Musashi,” the woman said again, this time more confidently. “You talked to Musashi at the Great Bridge of Gojō Avenue.”  
  
Akemi felt haunted. Haunted by the face of this woman she believed to had only seen for the first time, and yet. She did not need to reply.  
  
Just who is this white-faced woman? Akemi suddenly thought. Could they have met each other before? Her face suddenly resembled too much of the demon she previously met: pale and hollow. Intimidating.  
  
“I love Musashi,” the woman said, and with that, all demonic features disappeared from her face. Akemi now understood. The pain, and the jealousy. “How do you know him?”

It was a feeling known to all women, long before since the story of Giō… The fear of being replaced, and the deep understanding of their own life’s futility. Giō, too, was important once, and discarded within the next second, when her master found a brighter, younger, prettier _shirabyōshi_. It was only the cruel ways of life. Akemi understood the fear that tinted this woman's voice desperate.

“Don’t worry,” she said, surprised by the kindness lurking in her own voice. “I met Musashi long years ago. If it is his feelings you are worried about: he does not love me and never have. You have seen him at the bridge, too. That is not the face of a man in love.”  
  
Even if she wanted to pretend, anyone would see that Musashi’s heart was far removed, somewhere else. Akemi at times thought that his heart laid beyond the reality that she perceived as such. Sometimes she believed that Musashi could not love a creature like her and saved his heart and soul for something that was almost as divine as he himself.  
  
The woman’s face softened.  
  
“Please call me Otsū.”  
  
Akemi introduced herself, too. Having exchanged names, the woman seemed more like a girl to her, now. All malice and hatred disappeared, and the lines on her face returned to a girlish innocence. And kindness. Akemi basked in what which she had long lost for a moment.  
  
When Jōtarō brought the water, she helped her drink, then brushed her hair away from her face.  
  
“Can you walk? You should lie down in a tea house or an inn, instead. There should be something nearby.”

“I will be fine here,” Otsū insisted.

She understood the determination in her eyes, knowing that even gods and demons could not make her turn away from here now. Akemi spoke, voicing her enlightenment.

“You are waiting for Musashi.”

“She won’t move from here!” Jōtarō exclaimed, with serene resignation.

And he, will not be back, Akemi knew, with self-assurance. The only thing that made her silence her tongue was her sensibilities, after looking at the hopeful, no! Willful face of Otsū, waiting so religiously for someone who had no heart coming.

Was this her own face? Akemi wondered. Was this her own face before all of it happened, day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year, waiting for the passing of the only man she thought she could trust? And love? And respect. Otsū looked feverish, and not only with determination. She sat on the small space in-between admirable and pathetic.

Her faith was branded with innocence, and perhaps, and ignorance to the affairs of the world outside her own, constructed reality. That purity was something once all girls carried with themselves, then lost, having realized that the world had always been against them. Akemi looked upon that innocence with envy and disdain at first, then, she became mournful.

Akemi’s suffering opened her eyes to the world, and it was inevitable for all to open their eyes all the same. And to think of such things as expected, unavoidable, and most of all, natural… Then what was the point of her being alive!

Women, by design, were made to hold the spiritual advancement of men back, they always told her. Monks, and scholars, and artists, widely-respected individuals across the provinces who considered themselves well-versed in the matter of both heaven and earth. And so, how did they not see that the hindrances were themselves the whole time? How could they not see that they inflicted that abuse, not only upon themselves but on those too, who were designed to hold them back?

Buddhist teachings, or the wisdom of age-old scholars, only a man can step between himself and his own advancement. Akemi could not believe in such one-sided theories anymore.

She saw Seijūrō. She saw him, she rejected him, she did not cross paths with him. And yet. Whose choice was it, if not Seijūrō’s, to throw himself on the path of abuse!

But men will also twist and turn their own words until all the violence they inflict will reflect badly on those they inflicted it on. Somehow, Seijūrō’s abuse was only love that Akemi was too simple to understand. Somehow, all the torture was done for a greater cause. One’s pain was another’s advancement, another’s lesson in life, another’s pleasure…

Well, not anymore.  

She remembered Seijūrō’s miserable face, first, the bloodless suffering, and then the terror. Begging for his arm to be cut off, so pain and death would elude him. She also remembered Kojirō’s smile and the way he indulged in his pain.

“Aren’t you happy?” he asked. “He made you suffer. You must be grateful.”

But it was Kojirō, who enjoyed. From beginning to end, he only saw himself, and the pleasure he gained from torturing others, one way, or another. Akemi was not grateful. Akemi was coloured horrified and disgusted.

Seijūrō taught her the depths of sin a man can sink into, and call it righteous, natural, and fair. He was, unfortunately for the world, nothing more than an average man. He took that, which was not his for granted, and believed that most creatures in this world were to support his improvement, ready for him to take. But Kojirō was beyond that.

Kojirō taught her calculated cruelty. Seijūrō acted on his desires without understanding what he did, and why, simply going after the things he wanted the most. He functioned almost on the level of an animal, no matter how studied and enlightened he may have considered himself to be.

All evil deeds of Kojirō came from a place of understanding, a place of thought, and a place of pleasure, which turned him into such a formidable villain, Akemi never found another man he could have compared him to. She felt almost sorry for Seijūrō, while Kojirō did nothing, but scare her.

And even so, the damage they made would be all the same. And Akemi knew that a different face, but the same manners kept dealing the same damage over and over and over again.  And so, her heart went out to Otsū. She could have felt envy, for she was innocent and pure when Akemi was not anymore. She would have, perhaps, even a day ago, or two. Not anymore.

“Musashi will not come,” she said then, with determination. “No matter how long we wait here, Musashi will not show his face.”

“You think he will die in the bout?” Jōtarō asked her, ready to defend his master.

Akemi shook her head. “I cannot know that. But no matter what, he will not come back here. Waiting for Musashi is futile.”

How did she gain this knowledge, she herself could not tell. All the life she remembered having was spent with waiting and waiting, on this man that was so elusive, he could have not existed at all. Musashi was not the sort of person who could be caught or waited for. He would be found only when he wanted to be, on his own terms, and then he would act detached, indifferent, and out of this world. Breaking the rest of the spirit you had.

“If Musashi wants to find us, he will find us in a tea house, too,” Akemi insisted.

The way Otsū looked, pale-faced and sweating at the brows, she would be surprised if the girl could manage to stay alive for a day longer outside. If she was carefully laid down among cushions and was properly cared for, she could still recover.

She turned to Otsū. “If Musashi wants to come, he will come to the tea house, too,” she repeated herself, enunciating every word clearly.

“I will wait.”

Akemi dipped her head to the left side. “What use will it be if you wait yourself to death? Your duty is to see yourself heal, and not to Musashi, but to yourself.”

Then, she felt guilty, having thrown herself into the waters not long before. Her guilt would not subside, but she told herself: this was to save another soul from the same end she almost met, and from the end she is slowly edging towards to.

It took some time for her to convince the girl, who finally agreed, overcome by curiosity.

“If I go,” she said, forcing herself to stand up with less effort than was expected of her. “Will you tell me where you knew Musashi from?”

Akemi promised to tell: if this was the story she wanted to hear on her sickbed, then be it. She motioned towards Jōtarō, asking the boy to follow after them. Otsū leaned on her side as they walked, way past the morning now. Despite her state, she had a firm grip on Akemi’s sleeve.  
  
Strong girl, Akemi thought. Stronger than her fragile frame would suggest.

She collapsed in the first inn they found and saw awful nightmares from fever for three days straight. Yet, her demeanour never reminded Akemi of herself, freshly rescued from a stream, acting like a madwoman from some play. Her body struggled, but her mind never sought the peace found in death.

Akemi made her drink water, cleaned her brows with a wet cloth, and listened to her cries. As for Jōtarō, she sent him away whenever he could, on small errands, or to look around for Musashi, try to get some news. Matahachi’s money would last them for a while, so at least she did not have to worry about that.

And news came, of course.

They say he survived the bout, but the other things they also say may leave Otsū weeping. For Akemi, knowing that he survived, was enough.

She knew that the girl would survive when her curiosity came back. Still, she would lie on her side with pale, ivory face, and chapped lips, but her questions would keep coming. Musashi this, Musashi that.

“I saw you in the inn, too,” she said then. “You were alone, and I wanted to talk to you, to ask you, but all of a sudden I didn’t know what to say.”

Akemi faintly remembered. “You were with that old hag, that time.”

In that case, she was also with Matahachi, it occurred to Akemi, but she did not feel the need to confirm. Instead, she asked. “Whatever you were doing with her, anyway?”

Otsū’s eyes turned even sadder within a second, and she broke down in silent tears. Akemi watched her and dabbed the cloth at her cheeks. This answer did not confuse her, but it also proved to be no help. Seeing that the question upset the girl, she never asked again.

In the next few days, Otsū started showing real improvement. Sometimes she would sit up in her cushions and take more food to herself than before. (Although, she still ate very little, claiming that she naturally had a light appetite.) Sometimes, when Jōtarō came to check on them, even a stray smile would run across her face.

Having to attend to the girl, Akemi almost forgot about Kojirō and the fact that she was trying to get as far away from that man as possible. Since he was also chasing after Musashi, for one reason, or another, she feared that staying with Otsū would make it inevitable that their paths would cross once again.

Otsū gathered enough strength for small walks outside. They would never leave the inn too far behind, and would only go for an hour at most, but at least some colouring returned to her cheeks, and her endurance seemed to grow, again. The moment they heard rumours about Musashi heading towards Edo, she was at her full capacity again. Ready to pack and leave, she turned to Akemi.

“You will come with us, will you not? You helped me so much, and I had no means to pay you back, yet.”

They said that the new capital is full of opportunities, for those who had nothing before to climb to success, wealth, and fame. They said that Edo was the gathering place of ambitious youth, who had nothing but wanted everything. Akemi did not know what she wanted, apart from the innocence she barely remembered having. From the moment she was persuaded to rob corpses on abandoned battlefields, her ideal self, and her true self separated from one another. Now, if she met her ideal self on the street, she would not be able to recognize herself in her.

And so, the only thing remaining from her innocent youth was the memory of a life in abundance with her family, when her father was still alive. Her mother would be able to afford all sorts of luxury, and she would be able to laugh and love. Even Musashi’s arrival did not bring her as much pleasure as the purity of her childhood once did. And now, having lost everything, there was only one thing she could keep chasing: a life of wealth and security. 

“I will go to Edo with you,” she decided, then.

When they left the inn in straw sandals, and leggings for the travel on the road, they looked like different women than the one who entered. Otsū was, again, full of passion and motivation for meeting a man who eluded everything. And Akemi, again, let the waves of life carry her towards another shore, hoping that it would be better than the one she reached before.

Travelling with companions felt a lot different. Jōtarō’s aimless chit-chat was constant, so would be his child-play, stopping here and there on the road and demanding a break, some songs, or food for the road. His behaviour towards Otsū was cheeky, almost bordering on imprudent.

Otsū did not seem to mind. Occasionally, she would scold the boy, but most of the time their interactions would be pleasant, and familial. Akemi thought of that with some envy… Not even with Matahachi could she enjoy some innocent banter, although they used to be so close in age. And while the road did not always seem the safest, their small party made through the days in a cheery manner. 

“I do not remember ever having the company of a woman,” Otsū confessed once, as they walked, Jōtarō running a few paces ahead of them. “I would often be surrounded by people so different from me.”

Thinking about it, Akemi had to agree. It was rare for her, as well, to enjoy the company of a girl her own age, instead of going with her mother or being chased by men of Seijūrō’s type.

“Constant interaction with men – even with Jōtarō,” Otsū continued, “is exhausting. If you cry, they call you weak. If you reject them, they call you cruel. If you think in a way that does not please them, they call you stupid…”

She found herself agreeing. Before she could say anything, Otsū continued.

“And what is so wrong about crying when one’s sad, and laughing when one’s happy? Men pretend they do not have tears and force us to only show them smiles.”

And when there is nothing to smile about, they make it into our fault, as well: Akemi finished the thought for her. They looked at each other for a while, in silent agreement.

From that day onwards, Akemi felt different. In this world, she never expected to find an ally, especially not someone who spent all her life away from her – and yet ended up sharing the same thoughts. Those thoughts, the same experiences shared between two strangers, connected them with a stronger bond than she ever felt with anyone.

Akemi wondered if her life would be easier joining a group of women. For a temple-girl, she would probably not qualify anymore. But this time, great numbers of brothels were being moved from Kyoto to the new Capital, for what ambitious, young men would always need is company. And more than that, company that was easy to attain. At least some men were willing to pay for it instead of believing that a woman’s body was theirs to take…

Yet, this gave her no solace. Her mother would tell her on the daily that this was the road she needed to take. That once she would have to accept Seijūrō’s money, in exchange for the illusion of love, so they both could eat, mother and daughter. Akemi found that the prospect of payment did not make her any more willing. And so, she wondered how many girls were unwilling, but afraid to go hungry… How many girls were like her, crying themselves to sleep at night, half wishing they drowned in the river that day.

So, no. Her chances of being surrounded by like-minded women for the rest of her life were not high. When she thought about life, she was either filled with a childish hope towards success and happiness, or the fear: everything would stay the same until she dies.

For now, Otsū and Jōtarō kept her company, but how long would that take? Until they reached Edo? Until Otsū finally found Musashi? As much as this moment was the closest to perfection Akemi ever knew, she was aware of the transience.

“In this life,” Otsū told her once, over a light meal, “I am constantly on the move. Every day is a journey, and as the days pile up, I find my life to be an endless trip. When I was young, I took the unchanging nature of my situation in life for granted, but by now, I barely remember what it was like to live in such a way.”

Akemi understood this, too. Even though the people said that the turmoil of the wars calmed down, and it was time to settle in, she did nothing but allowed herself to be carried by the currents of history, not knowing how to settle down. Uncertainty was still in the air, fresh as ever.  

“And even so, I am grateful for the things I have seen,” Otsū added.

Akemi’s expression turned sour. “There are all sorts of things in the world.”

“There are all sorts of things in the world… sometimes scary, and more, much more than scary.” Otsū’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “But I saw them. And I am happy to have shared a journey with so many people, to have met so many shades of kindness. When I catch up with Musashi once, I will know that as he improved himself, I did the same…”

“You have been trailing after Musashi for quite a while, haven’t you? Don’t you think that he’s running away from you, putting off that eventual meeting? Isn’t it that he wants to lose you?”

While understanding that her words might hurt her, she could not hold herself back anymore. Her own feelings made her pine for Musashi for a long while, making him into the peerless hero of her dreams. But that side of Akemi needed to be lost. Trampled on.  

She did not drown that girl, but she slowly starved her to death, without realizing. And by the time she found out that she was dead, Akemi did not miss her anymore.

Otsū thought about that question for a while. She shook her head and went onto an explanation about his character. It was like hearing herself from years ago, calling out to the current Akemi, love and pride burning in her chest.

Musashi’s character should not be judged the way one would judge an ordinary man, she said. He did not make himself, but he was not made by others, either. Otsū was there when he woke from a dream that lasted lifetimes and decided to embark on a journey that is in many ways lonelier, and more torturous than the path Otsū and Akemi were walking on now.

And for this reason, Otsū knew that Musashi would never be fully hers. Unparalleled in this world, and in the world of heavenly warriors’, too, he would be hard to love, and yet, hard to let go of. He existed on a different plane, to which no bridge existed, but Otsū believed that for those minutes when he would visit the human realm, to briefly meet her, it would be all worth it.

He was not cruel, she claimed, he only follows his own path. No matter what, he owed nothing to Otsū, and she followed after him, fully understanding this. It hurt, sometimes, it hurt more than she thought she could bear. But she decided to live with it, knowing no better, getting used to the pain.

She smiled, serenely, as she thought about her own situation. “This is how it was meant to be. I think love is the gentlest sin.”

Akemi first felt the claws sinking deep into her chest, forcing her bones apart, then the burning in her eyes and throat. It came out of nowhere, like some bedding forced over her head, muffling her cries, choking her mute. The sake of her hands came with it, too, and the sudden change in the way Otsū looked at her.

Her gentle face transformed into that of a scared child, then it filled with despair. Akemi did not understand at first, and only then she realized that she was, indeed, violently crying from a pain Otsū could not understand yet. Those words, meaning the deepest devotion for one, transformed into the scariest sentence to another.

Love was never supposed to be a sin. Gentle, or violent.

All these ideals, of sin, and virtue, of retribution carrying on from past lives, of predetermination… all lies!  

Men, in order to make you accept your sorry lot in life, would tell you that what meant to be was meant to be, unavoidable… Even with your soul remaining so pure that you may be received on a lotus pedestal, purer than any of theirs, your suffering was not suffering that was meant to be, Akemi thought.

It was not suffering you inflicted on yourself: it is the suffering they gave you. Even if she sinned in the past, how could be so sure that such cruelty was her retribution for it? How could she be sure that there was a crime she committed? A crime she never remembered. Was it not just the brutish way of men to torture her, and make her into her own torturer?

If she could shed this skin … if she could just shed this skin right now, and carry on to the next step, without having to remember what happened to her! Oh, if he could do that right now! She thought.

Otsū’s fingers laced in with hers as she approached, trying to calm her restless fingers trying to open her kimono, then the underwear, then the skin underneath… A teacup was scattered next to her, tea tainting the matting.

“Akemi…” Her hands ran through her hair, trying to clear it out from her face. “I am sorry I said that so thoughtlessly… I didn’t know… I didn’t _think_ …”

She couldn’t have known. Akemi was not angry. In fact, her own reaction scared her all the same, unaware of the pain and the despair that nested in her chest. She could not tell how long Otsū held her in her arms, the both of them weeping silent tears. Otsū’s wet cheeks rubbed against hers, arms tightening around her. She slowly gave in and lowered themselves on the matting, into a laying position. The girl’s heartbeats were loud against her chest.  

They slept like that, on top of each other, without even fetching the bedding for that night. When Akemi woke, she felt lost for a moment, unable to tell where she was. Then, all the memories came flooding back.

Otsū’s fingers were caught in her hair, but the girl’s expression was calm and serene. Unwilling to wake her up, Akemi let her rest in her arms for a bit longer. It was strange, she thought, how good it felt to hold, and be held. For longer than she remembered, she was pining after someone to hold her, and yet, she could never experience it.

And as for Otsū, it must have been the same. She felt respect for her, for her strong will, surviving through illnesses and hardships, with only a single goal in mind. People with stronger frames than Otsū must have died from lighter illnesses – because their heads weren’t focused enough.

On that morning, Otsū took her flute and played for her.

“I am nothing special,” she warned. “But some people enjoy the music I make.”

For those few moments, Akemi felt like she was transported into another world, where no pain and no obligations existed. Otsū was more skilled with the flute than she gave herself credit for, summoning the powerful energy of benevolent deities with her music.

It brought tears to Akemi’s eyes, but they were tears of relief and pleasure. While the arts eluded her for most of her life, she was attuned to beauty and grace and wished to remember the appearance of Otsū, becoming one with the gods as she was playing.

After that, Otsū played for her every night in the inns and tea houses they stayed at, on Akemi’s request. It would bring her pleasure to see Akemi engrossed in the music and forget about the pains of the world for a moment.

And after that, each time, they would push their beddings together and sleep in each other’s arms in the darkened room. Jōtarō would stay apart from them for the nights. She would wake with Otsū’s scent in her nose, and their fingers laced with one another.

As the days passed, one by one, and they slowly approached Edo, her despair started to grow, again. For now, they were travelling together in this blessed state, but soon enough Musashi would force them apart. The companion in Otsū may cease to exist in the exact same moment when she looks at Musashi for the first time in a long while and is overcome with emotion.

Every night, she would hold Otsū closer, scared that the next day there would be nobody left to hold. With fingers playing in the girl’s hair, she would silently thank the gods for even this much of time. In her mind, from a lover, Musashi transformed into an enemy… No matter how she tried to fight against it.

For any man to cruelly refuse such a willful and loyal creature as Otsū was more than a sin. And for Otsū to keep on chasing after them was equally foolish. And yet, this was the thing that distinguished her from others. An Otsū who did not pursue what she felt the most for would become just another lost girl in this floating world.

In a few days’ time, clinging to Otsū developed the same kind of illness the girl displayed the night they met. Her body would refuse to move, and she could hardly leave the bedding in the morning. Unlike Otsū, she could not find the will in herself to carry on.

She saw Musashi as an enemy, and a formidable one: knowing that put up against each other, she would not be able to win. There was hardly anything Akemi could offer. All she had was some money, already running out, which she stole from Matahachi’s mother.

Otsū tried to nurse her to health, as much as possible. “Soon enough we will reach Edo… this journey won’t have to continue forever.”

“And what of Edo? What happens when we get there?” Akemi asked, grabbing onto the front of her kimono.

“Edo is full of new people and new opportunities…” She brought Otsū down to the matting with her, with a face messy from the tears. “You don’t want that anymore… do you?”

“If I could have one opportunity in this world, I wish it was for me to transform into Giō, and have you as my Hotoke,” she sniffled. “To have a home, undisturbed by the brilliant, showy life of the city, where I could retreat and heal. To have you come back to me and choose my company. That we may be reborn on the same lotus pedestal…”

Otsū listened. She listened to the weeping Akemi, trying to make meaning out of her words, with a hand in her hair, and another around her waist, holding her. Their noses rubbed together in silence, and then, Akemi edged forward until their lips brushed.

Meeting no resistance, she pressed a kiss on her mouth, and then countless more, until it was reciprocated, with legs tangled into one another. Having suffered the abuse of what men call the physical form of love, she was averse to do anything more that time. Otsū must have been scared all the same.

Akemi rested her hands on the girl’s waist. “I know I am no match to Musashi…”

Otsū silenced her with a kiss and a tight embrace. “Giō was no match for the regent, either.”

They rested on the bedding for a long time, listening to the voices from the outside world, filtering through the walls. Her hand found its way to Otsū’s.

“What now? Edo?”

“For now, forward. On the top of a hill, somewhere, once in the future, a house is waiting for you.”


End file.
